Saturday, 30 January 2016

You know when someone – a famous someone – you don’t know
dies, and you suddenly feel the world is a different place?I felt that when Leonard Nimoy died last
year, for example – like a piece of rationalism had exited the world, leaving
us spun deeper in chaos (yes, I know he wasn’t
actually Spock, but my brain will forever associate him with Spock; also
with the similarly rational scientist in the remake of The Body Snatchers; not to mention the evil scientist in Fringe more recently…).

There have been others lately – so many sudden deaths of famous people that
were part of my background, but I was very surprised by my reaction to David
Bowie.He’s a soundtrack I’ve been
hearing all my life, but only in passing.I’ve never really been a fan.He’s been someone in my cultural background, as well as a musician
influencing so many others styles, and life choices.Bit like Lemmy, who died nearly at the same
time – totally different music and life style there, but another one with a
whole backstory to a generation, another icon.

It feels like Bowie in particular had fingers in everyone’s
musical pie.So many people cite him as
an influence.

I’m struggling with my mood and demeanour today: I’m turning
on the head of a pin, turning on the side of a coin.I had a bad day at work (oh yes) yesterday,
to the point of where running off to Mexico (Fry’s preferred emergency solution
to just about anything) seems like a better idea than showing up in my life
today.I’m very tired and somewhat
irritated by the fact I know I’m going to do the right thing and show up
anyway, regardless of how I feel.

So hearing another musician, another cultural icon that I
was…sort of ambivalent about really, has died, should not be upsetting me.Should definitely not be the excuse my psyche
has been waiting for, for a total mood dip.Yet I can really feel it descending.Instead, I should be, by logic, shouting out the only song of his that I
really really liked, Heroes, very loudly.And then trying to be one, within the
confines of my life.

So sing.

And not cry.

Maybe that, him knowing he was going to die, explains that
strange, scary and portentous song and music video – the Black Star that went
round shortly before he died, on Youtube.For anyone confused by the word PORTENTOUS in that last sentence: I’ve
discovered on using it on Facebook, that it has semi fallen out of use.I say ‘portentous’ and what people were
hearing was PRETENTIOUS.A whole different word.When I first saw the last Bowie video, I
commented that I found it portentious: as in, containing an omen, a sign, a
hidden meaning that was there, but which I couldn’t quite read or
decipher.That it presaged something
coming, I just wasn’t sure what.And it
riled loads of fans who thought I had just accused The Master of being PREtentious.And then they went on to misunderstand that
word too, and ask me who I thought he was pretending to be?Which incident among increasingly many in my
life, shows up the limits of communication, as well as the mixed joys of trying
to keep good words going when half the world has lost them already, and you
didn’t use them within enough context to make them clear.

Anyway. I’m in the coffeeshop before beginning work, which
is this morning, annoying.Both the idea
of beginning work, and the people.Two
habitually tragic faced men have sat down near me, facing me.Odd choice: I usually sit facing the window
and the exit – more to see.I wouldn’t
sit facing a grumpy woman (that would be me).There’s another woman, sitting next to me-ish, on the phone, saying
loudly: “See?See?Noooooooo – really??See? He doesn’t move much, sits in the corner
now…”I really want to turn down her dial
– and the dial of everyone who speaks loudly on a phone, inviting us all into
their usually extremely boring and lengthy conversations.I also want to enquire after whether she’s
talking about a person or a pet….and the thing is, she would be annoyed if I
asked, as if she hadn’t just talked so loudly everyone was forced into her
business.

I have to go in a moment.So this woman is wasting my precious alone time.Huh. Then I will have to go and sit tensely
and wait for the phone to ring at work.A secret of customer service: when you are mediating services that have
been repeatedly cut, you find yourself often explaining to people why you can’t do what they want.Sometimes this is due to poor research on
their part – 5 minutes of googling prior to their call would have shown them we
never did whatever it is, or we definitely don’t do whatever anymore.So poor research and faulty expectations on
their part.Sometimes it’s that we did
and don’t any longer, or simply can’t though it would make sense if we did. But someone else often does do the thing.And
the secret is: you don’t calm people down when they are cross.THEY CALM THEMSELVES.

They call, often too cross already, and then they make the
decision to stay cross and to make very sure you are aware they are cross (by
sprinkling their shouting, or conversation or demands with swearing, or phrases
like ‘you lot of inept idiots’, ‘what kind of arseholes do you employ down
there’, ‘do you lot ever think of anyone else’, ‘what do you actually DO there’).It doesn’t matter what you try to say or what
explanations you attempt to give, or how you say it.If they are determined to stay cross, cross
they will stay.And they will get
crosser too.In many ways it’s like
dealing with a child having a tantrum. If they don’t get what they want NOW (or
better still, yesterday), then anger and rudeness is what you will receive.

Any deviation from this is because THEY decided to become
civilised, and hear what you are saying, or accept your apology for their
trouble and inconvenience: for a theoretical and very common example, roadworks
and cones and lane closures caused by allowing a water company to repair a
burst water main that supplies the local hospital, er – important stuff; and sometimes substances have to set before
continuing, so it will look like there’s a lane closure and no work going on –
but there’s a reason.They will decide
for themselves that being rude and arrogant and abusive to someone who is doing
their best to help in a flawed system is at best counter productive.Obviously if I was inept or unhelpful or
sounded like I had no idea what I was talking about, I would contribute to
their annoyedness, but I try to be calm and quiet and conciliatory.

The annoying thing for me is when the other day I had to
say: “Sir, I am trying to give you an explanation.If you don’t let me speak, then I can’t help
you…” and after the call being told to not antagonise
the caller.Me.Who just spoke quietly
and calmly to someone who was shouting and not listening at all, and who I
really felt had vented enough already.Some of them don’t ring to be helped or informed, and I often realise I
am experiencing a feeling of quiet sadness that realising you were 2 hours late
to work because a vital water supply TO A HOSPITAL is being replaced, an
unforeseen emergency situation, is NOT ENOUGH of an explanation for some
people.It makes me feel sad about the
people and whatever is in their minds; and very sad about the future of
communication.The world seems to be a
lot about fulfilment of demands, and very little about understanding
circumstances and trying to reach a compromise – which is what has to happen when people have differing
but strongly held views.

I think in the case of the barrage of the cross motorist who
was very late, he was so abusive because of a flawed perception that we
had overruled his needs without asking him – we the Still Mighty and
Terrifying Public Service Sector, who decree when the roads will be done, to
give people stuff like, you know, drainage…People
are unclear about what constitutes need, greater need, group need over personal
need.And if they are stuck deep enough
in their personal need, they won’t be able to hear anything about group
need. And they won’t understand that we can’t poll everyone, we have to let the
water main get fixed, because it’s an emergency.For example.Still – that explanation is not
one any caller wants to hear (or in this case was prepared to hear), and neither
is it a comfort to me.

Sometimes knowing
a thing doesn’t particularly help.It
just does make me sad and fearfully stress me out that when I go to work I
never next know when a caller will decide that I personally am responsible for
the entire failure of HIS/HER LIFE that day, morning, week or year.It’s odd.My supervisor made a telling remark the other day.She said: “It’s the idea of the Nanny
State.They all complain they don’t want
it, but they do” and she’s right – or they would have no one to complain at or
about, whenever anything doesn’t work.They complain at all the things we don’t or can no longer do, not accepting
that in many cases, they voted for the
Party that’s defunded our services to the point they can function only very
carefully, and in some cases not so efficiently, anymore. Expected to do
ever more, but with ever less money.So
prioritising becomes tighter and tighter, and clashes of interest will happen.

So I will go in, sit there through the long minutes, in a
Bowie-less world, singing ‘Heroes’ to myself.I will be polite and I will try to be kind, and helpful.(Best not to try and channel Lemmy, eh?!) Let’s
hope today’s people feel reasonable.And
if they don’t…how best to be quietly helpful, quietly heroic, in daily
life?Crises are easy.You stand or you don’t.But every day, the grind, the challenges to
not become closed, or uncaring – that’s a heroism that goes on every day, for
all of us.Personally, I reckon that’s what
Bowie was talking about in the song – nothing grand or melodramatic, just how
to do more than survive, how to properly communicate, to make things a touch
better.That’s being a hero in your
small bit of every day life.And I will
keep trying, absolutely damn it!Because
what other thing is there to do?!

Sunday, 24 January 2016

There’s a book I’ve been reading this week, Rosemary Ashton’s 142 Strand*.It’s about how the Strand
used to be the base for journalism and publishers in Victorian times (especially
radical ones, and some pornography), before Fleet Street took over.Bohemian people galore.

I’m finding it fascinating though I’m not too far in
yet.It’s especially about the growth of
one small publishing house and adjacent shop, owned by a Mr Chapman, that ended
up catering to allsorts of radical thinkers (atheists, anarchists, socialists,
fringe scientists – some of that science is now mainstream; some consigned to crankiness
of the past) – and George Eliot and her not quite husband. Mr Chapman bought
the booksellers and publishers in his little section of the Strand from a
concern already going; published lots of famous religious thinkers of time –
many Unitarians, and ex Unitarian minister and one of the founders of
Transcendentalism – (mixture of Plato, Kant and Coleridge): Ralph Walso Emerson
(backed by Carlyle, of Sartor Resartus
fame).

He carried on doing this sort of publishing, so had small
but loyal following, who bought his books and published their own via him. A
bit incestuous, like the Bloomsbury set later on, with Virginia Woolf.He had very little money though, as it didn’t
bring in much.Reading this section,
about his trouble paying bills, I was finding it strange how I simultaneously had
a vision of the eternal romance of the idea of the striving artist or activist,
going short for principle…and then being quite a bit surprised that it feels
the same today in many ways.Anything
that is actually worth doing (aside from acting or other areas of art where you
have genuinely hit it lucky and big) seem to pay a pittance.Job security and a decent wage seem to come
from jobs that if you really thought about them and lined up your beliefs next
to them…might not mesh.

The earnest Mr Chapman tried a branch out with mesmerism
books (seen as a lash-up of spiritualism and cutting edge science), which
became a fad during 1840s (again as it had done in the age of Mesmer himself,
sometime earlier).Harriet Martineau,
intellectual and political short story writer backed his ideas with a glowing
review, believing it had cured her of a brain tumour.It brought in few more readers.Astute of him to back this fad just before it
really got going.

There seemed to be many copyright problems in this age–
copyright law was only just instituted, and was complex and unreliable – even
lawyers despaired of making it mean anything – and that was the situation over
here; in the US, piracy in publishing was completely standard at the time, as
authors as famous as Dickens and Gaskell had found out.There was practically no point taking it to
court either, as it was so accepted as just what happened.Now that’s something that has changed rather
since then, in both countries.

The thing that really got his press and bookselling business
noticed was Mary Ann Evans (soon to be George Eliot), translating a copy of
Strauss’s Life of Jesus, which took
an uncompromising and typically German thorough look at the Old Testament prophecies
and their following through in the New Testament, and concluding the tome was
mostly mythical.(Some critics argued
with him, and not all were strictly religious – James Martineau did, saying he
used logic on something logic could not be used , which is a very Victorian and
still enduring idea.(That sometimes I
agree with and sometimes I don’t…)

Also, in his early years Mr Chapman published the brother of Cardinal Henry Newman,
Frances William Newman - the dissenter who got so dissenting people ended up thinking him an
atheist.He published The Soul and Phases of Faith – and so
echoed the back and forthing and discomfort many Christians felt with their
faith at this time, that George Eliot notes, only 30 years later, that whilst
people like her used to thrill to hear him, he was now almost unheard of and
unquoted, despite affecting so many lives, so “beneficiently”.I haven’t got much further than Chapter 2,
but the sudden sinking into the Victorian mindset of a few people and what they
strived for is as always, fascinating.I
read it when I’m not too tired on the bus, when I’m not doing the head nodding
thing.Evening is best for this one, as
in the mornings I like something lighter while trying to wake.

I sit in the coffeeshop in the mornings and try to do some
writing exercises, before I go on.Trying to shore up one part of my personality before the rest of it is
sorely tried.The fighting off of a cold
all week and the taking care of Stanley and Fluffhead when I get in, who seem
to be expiring of ManVirus (I don’t actually say that as a put down, I firmly
do believe in manflu since I think I also get it!) has been causing a drought
of writing; this week not much came.Too
tired and vague.I did successfully
complete one exercise, which was supposed to be a small flash fiction exercise –
a snippet if someone’s life focalised by use of their tone, their attitudes
shown through the tone of their voice.I
wasn’t sure how much I liked or rated it, and I didn’t like her tone – so I must have made her a bit real, as I was
bothering to dislike her, but here it is, since I’m sharing my writing this
year, for the most part, with you, O Faithful Singular Reader(and where are all you people from Russia I used
to have?!):

***

The thing is, he has no idea I’m watching him most of the
time.He sits there, in the periphery of
my vision, all day, to the left, working with the others.Just one month a year.I wait all year for this, and just the one
month.But I can see him everyday
then!He wears pressed blue shirts, good
thread weave – he’s classy.He’s bred, you can see the public school in
his manner and confidence.In the way he
holds himself, the way he’s skinny.You
can see his parents brought him up right, he’s friendly but not too
friendly.He chats to me, but then he
chats to the others.But I think he
chats to me more.While he’s here I try
and wear the clothes I think he will like the most, so that he can see that I
am like him – well, not like him, but
similar to him.That I am one of him.I wear the newest of my
shirts, with the necklines that dip, but not too much.The trousers that look most executive.I won’t wear a skirt as I’ve only got short,
and for a start I don’t like my legs, and for second, I think my boots with
them would look wrong, a bit slutty.Though some of those girls in there with him, they don’t seem to care
that they really haven’t got the legs for their little high shoes; or that
their skirts are too short.They totter
through the office and you think, who do you think you are?

Earlier, he asked me if I wanted something from Starbucks,
as they were going on a coffee run.He
asks me this every day – joking with me.None of the others ever do this.I never carry on the conversation long.I think that would be obvious, and the others might see.And what would they think – posh lot, someone
like him taking a serious interest in someone like me?So we keep it subtle.I chat a little bit, and then get on with my
typing.Its enough.And if I turn around and do filing, I can see
him anytime I want.I have to be careful
to not watch his arse when he goes out.He’s so well formed…

Anyway, he offered me a drink, and I accepted a frappacino,
and then he sent one of the other more junior ones to do it – he’s in charge, I
think, after the one in the suit jacket (never takes that jacket off), that
comes in and out every day.

He smiles at me when I catch his eye.He asks if I like the drink.This is it.I can’t really be with him, because we come
from different places.But he likes me,
and I like him.It is enough to know
it.And here he comes, smiling and
looking purposeful.Soon I go home to my
husband, sitting in his old clothes on the sofa, watching his programmes.

(507 words)

***

See?She’s not really
a nice person.So I felt like I did make
her exist, but I wouldn’t want much more to do with her or to write a story
with her in it.That’s what bamboozles
me about some of these exercises…I write them but it feels like to no purpose,
as I don’t like what’s produced and won’t use it again.

Anyway.I hope
Stanley and Fluffhead get their ManVirus gone soon; and I hope Mum comes back
too (as she’s sick also), as I feel life is on a pause of nothing much but
getting up early, being stressed at work and coming home, with no decompression
time and very little rest, with the lack of her help and the added caring for
of the two men.

I have nothing much left to do but to observe people on the
bus, and play out their stories in my head in between dozes.Or sometimes at the same time as dozing.There was a particularly ordinary looking
woman on the bus on Friday, going home from work early due to a temporary
Fluffhead emergency (now sorted).Obviously
in a rush, and no personal stuff done all day, only working, she was holding a
few letters that still needed opening.Balancing them haphazardly on her rucksack as she sat opposite me,
trying to get her hair sorted and her snack crisps out.She settled to opening her post about 5
minutes later, and the rustling she made disturbed me momentarily from that odd
half there and half not dream state you get into on transport.I couldn’t decide if my memory of her
reaction to one of the letters was totally overblown and half dreamt, or if she
really was this transformed by it.Needless to say, I was most perturbed I didn’t get a nose at what the
letters contents actually were…But this is what I remember when I think of that
journey that day:

A woman looks up, and her face shines.She puts down the letter.She is smiling in a moment of personal truth
and freedom, and her hands are fisted on the letter, crumpling the edges she’s
holding it that hard.It’s a moment of
vindication, and she breathes in, her cheeks wide on her face, with the smile
held inside her, no teeth, but it’s all over her face. She blooms in this
moment, softly pink, softly cream – she is a rose wearing peaches in the sudden
burst of sunlight from behind a tree, that breaks over her face as we move down
the street.Her honeyed brown hair, held
back off her face, shields her head from the warmth of the sun: its afternoon
now.She glints with sunlight and she
knows that finally, summer will come.

Obviously…I must have been a bit dreaming during that sudden
overthinking of her business.Though, I
hope it was a good moment for her…and I do wish summer would come.It was lovely going home that day and it
still being light outside.

I doze off again, and have a hazy memory of Stanley and I in
our old Stratford house where we used to let all the neighbourhoods cats come
in and play, as we are Very Much Cat People. Kittens chasing string; mouse
chasing – what do they chase?But they
do go fast…right over Stanley’s
foot, the other day, and through the room and out.Ever since, we have been looking for this
mouse, and its friends.And not leaving
crumbs out. Are they running within the
walls, little Samuel Whiskers and friends, mice, rats, cats, all looking for
each other, and make roly poly puddings?It’s the opposite of me now, sitting here turgidly, bumping back and
forth on this bus, ever getting toward home, but never quite making it. Dream
cat rubs soft fur against my cheek and I smile, or do I just twitch, the way
sleeping people do?Another day, another
day, same as the last, same as the last.

Saturday, 16 January 2016

I have been watching a few things here and there.Right before I started work, thre was massive
watching of whatever I fancied because I feared I would have very little time
ever again (this was very prescient of me).I’ve divided it into film and TV, for some reason.But here are the rambly thoughts…the last TV
one, The Fall, I only finished today,
so that’s fresh.I also watched the
first season of Penny Dreadful, which
was wondrous (especially in terms of words),
but I wasn’t moved to talk to myself about it, so its not here.I’m just anticipating season 2 (which I have,
just waiting to watch it with Fry), with great happiness.

TV

Castle,
Season 3
(Whilst
this series absorbed me as much as the previous ones while watching, I started
to feel that some elements were being lost.The chemistry between Castle and Beckett in terms of how they solve crimes
together and how he thinks everything is like a story is diminishing.Also, the way a niche environment is picked
every week and they are truly interesting niches is also declining – they are
just the usual list of situations and backdrops called upon by every crime
program everywhere in America now: there must be a list of these ideas and
situations.Tropes.There were a couple of howling bad episodes
too, notably the ones about the Real Authentic Genuine Original[etc] Nick, the
pizza episode. I got bored.On the other
hand, the interplay with his family at home is as delightful as ever – I love
the mother and I love the daughter.If
only all our home lives were this safely monied and clean and colour
co-ordinated and generally harmonious. I wish these people were in my family.
Which I think is the idea.

Stand out eps for me, were: Almost
Famous, Murder MostFowl [these
were original plots nicely done with little twists]; Nikki Heat[the actress chosen to be Nikki and Beckett have some
nice interplays with Castle]; Knockdown
[eps involving Beckett’s mother’s unsolved murder are always good, bringing out
Beckett’s vulnerable but bulldog tenacious side – it’s a strong and nicely
woven part of her character]; SetUp
[here because the man playing the Syrian attache stole the episode]; and of
course the finale KnockOut, which was
very nicely done indeed.And Castle
tells Beckett he loves her. But does she hear? Etc.The show is still very sharp,but needs to
beware of too many pedestrian filler episodes – can’t expect Beckett and Castle
to carry everything when they aren’t
being given good enough dialogue.)

Star
Trek: Deep Space 9, Season 3
(Same
problem as Castle - there’s a
slightly soapy pedestrian edge creeping over this very good show.Too many filler eps. The quality of the
writing overall, PLUS the often hard hitting subjects of the better eps is
falling off a bit.The good eps are very
good, but the rest are just killing time.HMMMM.

Stand out eps were: The Search 1 and 2
[because it elucidated Odo more an because the deteriorating and excessive
situation were believable if weird and I wanted to know what would happen
next]; The House of Quark [some
rather clever speeches by Quark, who really does part the bling into Greed]; Civil Defense [a very nice idea, and Gul
Dukat walking about blithely knowing the lasers will not attack him, while
being arrogant as ever, REALLY did make me smile]; Defiant [actually, this was a rather poor episode, but I love Riker
and was very happy to see him];Past Tense 1 and 2 were very nice
indeed, some good moral dilemmas; Visionary
[I liked the time travelling and Cassandra esque elements of this episode]; and
lastly Distant Voices [which really
makes me wonder why they didn’t do an awful lot more with Dr Bashir’s character
in the whole show]. I enjoyed any episode featuring Garak, as he’s a
marvellously odd character, but the 2 parter he had this season didn’t really
further his character, though it did
further his storyline.Which was a bit
odd.)

Star
Trek: Deep Space 9, Season 4(Good
eps include: Way of the Warrior, the
2 part opener –WORF!!!!!, need I say
more?!The Visitor – a heartwrenching episode about not letting go and why
you should even when Jake didn’t…Tony Todd owned the episode utterly, what a
voice!, and the grief he displayed, the loss, what acting, I was almost in
tears for most of the episode!Hippocratic Oath posed a moral quandary
that I got both sides of, and was one of those episodes where you realise how
underused Bashir’s character is and how great he can be.)

Castle,
Season 4(Mostly
got its mojo back, except for a couple of silly CIA based episodes. Otherwise,
excellent and back on track in its own quirky, well chemistried way.Especially enjoying Esposito and Ryan, who
seem to be coming to the fore, finally, a little more.)

The
Detectorists(This was lovely and gentle
and perfectly poignant.No one does this sort of thing like the English.Was most impressed to discover Mackenzie Crook both wrote, directed and starred in it.It was wonderfully English, and spacious, and full of eccentrics and losers…and, you know, people
like me who watch University Challenge.)

Castle
Season 5
(This
got itself back together, and managed the feat of keeping Beckett and Castle
together without being annoying, or doing a modern day Hart to Hart, which probably wouldn’t work very well. Excellent mix
of serious and funny episodes with only a couple that I would consider filler –
and I don’t think they were intended to be.Also managed the seriously clever feat of doing the world’s only
flashback episode that didn’t feel like a cop out for an episode.It had its own story, plus the bits used for
the flashback scenes were SO good and relevant, it felt like brill recap.The only thing that episode did show was what
I have come to see, that Nathan Fillion is doing a Holly Marie Combs in Charmed – that is, his performance, as
we have gone on, has got quieter and quieter and less quirky.He’s still very watchable and loveable, but
he has lost some of the drive and sass that I used to love about him.Whereas Beckett has gained a sort of quiet depth,
without changing too much at all; the difference between subdued and strong
quietude.)

Once Upon A Time, Season 3
(This
is amazing in the sense that not for one episode has this series lost its moral
centre or overriding theme: how people react to fear is everything.It governs the actions of every single
character – whether they confront, run and hide, manipulate, do deals; every
reaction to fear elucidates character and drives the plot.It’s an astonishingly simple device and I
must remember it if I ever write anything good ever again.It’s so much better than saying: where is the
conflict?Just say: how do they react, in any given situation, to fear?What does it drive them to do – and
you’ve got characters that interest and prove sympathetic, forever.

The only thing odd about this series was the way it ran the Peter Pan angle for
half the series, then wound it up very quickly and went for a different
villain; followed by the two parter at the end which felt like it could have
been suspended between this series and the next as a standalone.It made an important point, but felt oddly
divorced from the rest of the plot, even though it provided the catalyst that
brought Elsa, and the next development leading into series 4.

Rumplestiltskin/Mr Gold is still *marvellous*.)

The
Fall, Series 1
(What
a nice surprise. Not just a crime drama with a moody detective solving a crime
committed by a strange killer – but so much more than that.Also about how policing is done in Belfast,
how other cases link to this one, and very gradually – why the people are the
way they are.Impressed.And wish I was as disconnected as Gillian
Anderson’s character is, or seems to be.Envy of the ‘doubling’.Must
comment on Jamie Dornan’s fit for his role too.Very nicely done.Was staggered
when I realised the cliff hanger at the end of season 1, when I thought it
would all be sorted!Quite hooked!)

The
Fall, Season 2
(In some ways less than season 1, as in more tightly plotted so slightly more
carelessly or stereotypically characterised; on the other hand, amazing story
telling, ratcheting up the tension.Riveting viewing.Loving Gillian
Anderson’s character more and more – that sudden episode with Archie Panjabi
was fascinating; I am so enjoying trying to understand and work her out, where
she’s coming from.

I didn’t buy the scene where the man gang of Belfast toughs actually didn’t
beat her to pulp when she stood up to them, that step back one of them did – I saw
that it was meant to be instinctive, and that he recognised she meant business
as one unafraid aggressor to another; and I think it was meant to denote that
she was ‘real’ while he was a bully, a fake person who was only scary when with
his friends or with a gun…but I still didn’t buy it: she made him look small
infront of his friends, I think he would have reacted more.

Jamie Dornan’s sudden flights of cold eyed egotism were most interesting too –
because he hasn’t played the character like a stereotype at all, but when you
think about it, or when Stella describes his attributes, he is one, he’s
textbook.It fascinating, the face of
him and whats behind his face.And his
physical fitness is very much a part of the picture – that description of the
compression of the victim’s neck, to so small, and yet we not seeing it done:
very effective – we are more fascinated and frightened by what we don’t see.

Colin Morgan – yay – what a good actor, he; took me a real moment to place him as the same character in my beloved Merlin, as he was holding his face and doing his voice so differntly - the timbre, not just the accent!

This was marvellous, altogether, especially the ambiguous ending – will he
live, why did she seem so genuinely upset?[I have theorised that it’s because she is actually a very leaky and
empathic compassion monster, with a very sad past – which clues I got from
several bits of show, previous job mentions, the snappy band suggestion to
victim-survivor; she is so utterly connected that only intense apparent
disconnection and control will keep her together mentally to work
properly.The episode with Archie
Panjabi’s Reed Smith showed she was definitely not immune to sudden passions
and whims; though even then, she needed to control them and be dominant to let
it occur.]Etc.I hope he does live and more happens, the
expression on his face in the last few moments was interesting too…

I really did adore the way everyone watched everyone in this – the creepy hotel
owner; the terrifyingly hormonal and intense Katie Bennodoti, people observing
others all the time and not saying anything or using the information for
themselves alone.I decided it was
called The Fall partly for Paul Specter’s character and his arrogance in a very
Christian – outwardly – country; and partly because everyone in the series
seemed either about to fall or in the process of trying to hold off decay.Totally absorbing.)

Film

The Tomb
(Remake
of The Tomb of Ligeia, originally by
Poe. It was a good idea trying to set it in the present, and there was a nice
semi gothy feel to the scenes set in America, but the film started to fail when
it went to Russia. It couldn’t sustain its gently gothy atmosphere.I started to get bored, even though it looked
incredibly nice. I have no idea why Michael Madsen and Eric Roberts were there,
very badly miscast; this sort of film does nothing for either of them, and
their characters were not sufficiently defined to give them much to do. Or maybe
another actor would have done more with it.Difficult to say.The thing is,
Wes Bentley starred in and produced this, and he can be brilliant, so I suspect
these 2 were his friends and they wanted to do something brilliant, and maybe
this was his pet project.He clearly
believed in it, to plug money in.Shame
it didn’t work so well.It’s was no The Asphyx, for example.)

The
Imitation Game
(This
was a very sad film.I can’t believe we
did that to Alan Turing.And an Oscar to
the child actor who played the young Alan Turing on hearing of his friend
Christopher’s death.That was acting…)

The
Riot Club(This was a realdisappointment. It could have had a hard hitting feel and social commentary; it could
have walked a line that was a mixture of Straw Dogs and A Family
Function, and it did neither.It kept setting up situations that didn’t
quite happen and then speechified a
bit.It made the Bullingdon Club look like spoiled brats rather than dangerous
sociopaths, whichin fact is what they
must be…)

Wake
Wood(With Fry.I’m astonished he liked this as much as he
did.It
had a very Carter Burwell Blair Witch 2
influenced soundtrack, very sounds of
wood and organic elements – that was very
good.The quiet and small nature of the
film helped its creepiness, though I
really felt Aiden Gillen was miscast, as I
kept expecting him to kill someone any minute, as he has such a sinister and manipulative face. It was
a very odd conception, the idea of
rebirthing these dead people from other people. Iliked the Italian 70s nature of the gore and violence, focussing on the wounds etc – you could see, by
this device how theymust have managed
to film the violence completely separatelyto
having the child who was supposed to be enacting it on the set. A very curious film. Wouldn’t watch it
again, but was interesting.)

Night
of the Devils, 1972(A proper old, weird one…I
thought it was a giallo but it’s a ghosty/vampiric/zombieish
story based on Russian folklore, by Tolstoy,
originally.Man stranded in strange
area, modern and scientific, doesn’t
believe the odd events going on around him can
be caused by these supernatural means. But of course,they are, to cut a long story short.And there’s a nice twist at the end.It’s wonderfully Italian, wonderfully nonsensical, expectedly misogynistic and beautifully shot.I was uncaring about all the characters and not minding this [odd in itself],therefore left blank and objective enough
to enjoy the preposterous story.Little known, odd and quite good.)

Hillside Strangler (2007)
(At first watch this was wonderfully retro in look and style.And Nicholas Turturro and C. Thomas Howell
were almost cutouts of loser woman hating idiots who blamed everyone but
themselves for their loser lives…but at some point I got really disturbed by this,
by their psychology.I kept wondering
WHY they hated women so much.I could
see fear, I could see wanting and contempt all mushed up together.I could see a feeling of the sub humanity of
women to them.Howell’s Bianchi was so
much more than a cutout after a while, he really started to scare me: that
compulsive liar, the ease of his tales, the cut-off between wanting to do
something and actually doing it.The way
he had a girlfriend and kept wanting to have a baby with her when he was
completely incapable of holding a job or even the trappings of a ‘normal’
life.I recognised many parts of myself
in the portrayal [yes, I must be a bit delusional - eeekkkkkk!], just played
out differently.I started to wonder how
many of us are serial killers and torturers waiting to happen, just channelled
elsewhere: loads of us, I think.Struggling to do right things, good things, when their self-esteem leads
them down much darker paths.Its just
that we are …either too cowardly or in the head, or cautious – or genuinely
saved by different channelling, and manage to tell the difference between a
fantasy and a reality…Whereas: when Bianchi met his horrible cousin, Turturro’s
Buono, they had this fusive effect on each other of setting off the latent killers
within.Both in trouble for previous
crimes against women, but amplified together to this shocking – and oddly
passionless – idea of mutual revenge on women.We were all laughing at them,
see…Ohhh.Clever little film – creeped
me right out, and made me think.Can’t
believe Bianchi actually had work as a counsellor…Hmmmmmm. Oh, and a PERFECT
horror synth theme from Danny Saber, that I cannot find ANYWHERE for sale.Its small and just on the button for the
period its mimicking.)

Kingsman: The Secret Service(No
one mentioned the mad levels of graphic gory cartoon violence when telling me
how good this was.Why was that not
worth a mention?! The scene in the church alone is quite horrifying, because
its relentless and far too long. The film is also highly CGI-ed, and not just
the contortionist fight scenes – a lot of the normal bits: Colin Firth I could
swear, was hugely adapted.Walking like
a much younger man.The scenes with the
exploding heads had a Clockwork Orange element to them, something very odd,
that I couldn’t place between funny and shocking: such pretty jewel
colours.Eggsy very well cast. Quite a transformation.)

Nightcrawler
(Now THIS felt like reality.A total
loser, all eyes, is creepy and wonderful and wins in the end, despite amazing
brinkmanship.Jake Gyllenhaal, as usual,
wows and stuns as a quite realistic and believable Result Of Our Society.Moral without moralising.)

SPECTRE
(Enjoyed very much.Oddly soulless.Very very beautiful to look at.The initial Mexican Day of the Dead scenes
were beautifully put together.The fight
in the helicopter was vintage Bond; as was the return to slightly double-take-y
Roger Moore era visual jokes.Blofeld has
sibling rivalry issues; but at least he still had a cat.I enjoyed the still-new Q very much too.Sad to not see more of Naomi Harris this time
round.I’d watch this again, for all it
was stupid, when all’s said and done.I
liked the main female in this too – don’t remember seeing her in anything else,
but enjoyed her pouty self-containment.And the way Bond resigned [again] at the end.I feel the next one will echo OHMSS…)